“I can send someone to check on her,” Glenquartz says, and he pats the bars of the cell. “It was brave of you to help her. But Cadet Dominic was right. That fake tattoo will get you killed.”
I take a seat on the long stone bench. “Please check on her.” I don’t address his warning. If my tattoo is fake, I’m dead. But I’m equally dead if it’s real.
Glenquartz nods at last and withdraws from the door of the cell. I count the seconds as his footsteps fade, and I give it an extra five seconds before I put the key in the lock. I consider for a moment whether I should take the kitchen knife with me or not. If I stow it in the waste drain, it’ll be here if I get arrested again. They’ll search me, and they’ll search the cell, but I’m betting they won’t search the drain.
Once the cell door is open, I stuff the key in my pocket, hide the knife, and head out. I count the turns I took on the way down here, and when I reach the stairs, I walk up them quickly. Soon I’m at the heavy stone. I place my hand on the cool handle. I can’t get around a blind exit like this, so I have to take my chances.
Slowly, I leverage the door against its own hinge to keep it from making too much noise as it opens. As I move into the room, I see a woman standing near the opposite door, dressed in a sapphire-blue dress with ornate silver bracelets at her wrist.
I recognize her from parades in the city: Esther Merelda Fallow, daughter of the recently dead king, the former heir apparent. Her brown eyes are warm, but her expression is anything but. Her aura is like a cold mist that makes me shiver. She unfolds her arms, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find steel claws in place of her fingers.
“I hear you’re called Coin,” Esther says.
I narrow my eyes. I regret not bringing the knife now.
“Didn’t take you long,” she continues. “I’d like to say I’m impressed, but…”
“But you’re afraid the mere act of uttering those words would shatter you?” I offer.
Her eyes narrow this time, and she advances.
“Listen, I have an appointment to get to, and I’m late,” I say apologetically. I step sideways, and she mirrors my movements, blocking my path to the door.
“The only appointment you’re going to have is when I prove the tattoo on your arm is forged, and that will be an—”
“An appointment with the gallows?” I give her a disappointed frown. “That’s never not a bad joke. And trust me, as a Nameless, I’ve heard it before.”
Esther fumes, and she stomps even closer. I let her draw as close as she wants until she gets uncomfortable.
“You’re making a fool of yourself,” she says, putting a hand on my shoulder and pushing me against the wall. “You don’t know the first thing about being queen.”
“I don’t,” I admit as she stands a breath away. “I know how to survive. And the first rule: Getting close to someone?”
Esther looms over me.
I continue, “It makes you vulnerable.” I reach up and curl my fingers around her throat, turning my ankle behind hers and bringing her weight down toward the wall. In an instant, I’ve spun her right around and thrown her into one of the waiting chairs. It’s so fast that all I see of her thoughts is the image of high walls and peach stone.
She puts a hand to her throat, where her skin has flushed a faint shade of red. “You have no idea what world you’ve walked into.” She glares at the tattoo on my arm as if to peel it off. “I think you’ll find it’s as dangerous here as on the streets.” She rises to her feet, but she doesn’t advance on me again.
I lock eyes with her. “See, the problem is you’re trying to threaten me, but you’re being polite about it. I grew up on the streets, so you’ll have to do better than that. If you want to threaten someone, you do it like this.” I step closer so we’re almost nose to nose, my voice dropping to a dead, even tone. “If you ever touch me again, or if I ever feel threatened by you”—I allow a delicate, careful smile to overtake my features—“I will kill you.”
Esther’s satin sleeves bunch at her shoulders as she tenses, anger rolling off her like steam. I pivot on the heel of my boot and head for the door.
“You can’t leave,” Esther commands.
A flare of anger passes through me. “No. You can’t leave.” I imagine trapping her in the cell I just escaped, bars and stones surrounding her. I open the door and slip out of the room, then pull the door shut with a slam.
I’m surprised a moment later when I hear her pounding on the door and then the wall. She’s muttering and shouting, a trace of panic in her voice. When I face the corridor, I find Glenquartz standing across from me, leaning casually against the wall. There are three Royal guards on either side of him, boxing me in. I curl my fingers into fists. Even if I had the knife from my cell, it would only be good to take out one or two guards.
“So this is a trap?” I grind my teeth. “I’d like to say I’m impressed.”
Esther opens the door behind me and joins us. “Go ahead. No one’s stopping you. And it wasn’t a trap. It was a test.”
“One that she passed?” Glenquartz asks, his forehead crinkling.
Esther runs a hand on the door frame. “The tattoo is real. I don’t know how she knew to do it. Probably an accident. But it’s proof enough for me.” She appraises me distastefully, keeping her distance as good old Angry Cadet Dominic puts shackles on my wrists with a too-easy click.
“What proof?” I say. “What was an accident? That I almost had you dead to rights in there? That’s nothing.”
Esther’s hand perches on her hip. “You really don’t know.” She looks me up and down with disgust. She says to Glenquartz, “She made me see stones over every surface, and metal bars blocking all the windows and doors. It was good. I believed it. The illusion didn’t last long, though. It faded as soon as she got distracted by you.”
Alarmed, I realize that when I imagined she was trapped in the room, I made her see something that wasn’t there. “Wait, you’re saying you actually saw a room filled with rocks?”
She exhales sharply. “A room encased in rocks. Do try to keep up, or else you’ll have us all convinced you are the uneducated criminal you appear to be.”
I shake my head, not sure how I’m supposed to respond to the insult—not even convinced it is an insult.
“The tattoo lets you cause hallucinations,” she says, as though she’s explaining to a child why fire is bad. “Whoever you are and whatever you want, at least we know the tattoo is real.”